


Silence is silver next to your gold.

by dragonism



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Affection, Fluff, M/M, just dudes being gay, just guys being dudes, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 02:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13672653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonism/pseuds/dragonism
Summary: Sherlock Holmes basks in the sunlight of a nearby window as John Watson reads his paper. They both enjoy their morning as usual, or unusual as it so appears.





	Silence is silver next to your gold.

**Author's Note:**

> I said I’d never write Sherlock stuff again but it’s 2am and here I am.

John was sat in his chair. Mundane, not unusual. He was sat in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, his finger furling the corner of a newspaper and his eyes nowhere close to the printed words.

They instead hung on a figure at the window. A tall figure, almost lanky. Slender, for a better word choice, but not without muscle. Though it was somewhat of a wonder how the muscle got there, beneath the ripples of a shirt. John noticed these details quite frequently, and always looked away when he caught himself in the act- however today an invisible force drew him to do something out of the ordinary. Rather than averting his gaze back to a book or paper, away from his distraction, he instead allowed himself to raise quietly from his seat.

The newspaper was set aside, soft footsteps paced just a little closer. Then further.

Sherlock, of course, heard these steps. He was no fool to the familiar creek of a particular floorboard in the centre of the room. None the less, he plucked at another string with his finger and appeared to lose himself in another melody that rang from the small instrument beneath his chin.

His eyes were closed, he himself bathing in the warmth of a sun kissed London. A crack in the blinds allowed him to do so, this same crack is what provided the golden halo John found himself so drawn to.

It should be noted that the relationship between these two men runs far deeper than mere friendly touches and platonic smiles- but no deeper than a desire for something more. Withheld and aching for so many years.

John hovered.

For just a moment he stood there, as though waiting for something to will him forward again. Nothing other than a slight warm draft blew his way, flittered between the sheet music his companion seemed to have left untouched.

Sherlock wasn’t wearing his gown- another unusual factor. Today was quite the day for the unusual, however small the occurrences may be. For example Mrs Hudson had disappeared at 7am sharp and had not returned all morning, the clock now closing in on 10:25am. Unlike her to be gone so long, John took this as another notion for movement, and hasted another step towards the gold.

So he began a list.

Sherlock had made tea for them both. John of course was used to the detective awakening far earlier than him, but for the brunette to make tea? To remember how John had one and a half sugars precisely with just a dash of milk? He would have thought this unnecessary knowledge, John that is, but it seemed Sherlock labelled it important. Another point of pushing forward.

Sherlock, in the time that John was mentally willing himself to take the plunge, had skipped far over the edge himself. Without much thought for consequence, he set down his violin and rolled his eyes, snarking a sarcastic comment in his usual tone, “Oh do slow down John, there’s no hurry, I only sent Mrs Hudson out for four hours.”

John huffed at this, rolling his own eyes as though he could see Sherlock’s expression- though if he could it would be something of a marvel with how pink the taller man’s cheeks had grown. He sighed, stopped entirely and folded his arms, “Well then meet me instead.”

Neither of them had yet to entirely process what they were doing. Neither entirely sure why today of all days this had fallen so perfectly into place. That didn’t stop Sherlock from turning swiftly on his heel, hissing a breath from his nose and uttering, “Silly man.”

“Ridiculous detective.” John retorted, watching Sherlock bound over and meeting him first with his hands firm against the detective’s chest. Then they softened, hovered just as he did moments before, and then gripped. Curling around the detectives collar just the same as his finger curled the newspaper earlier.

And Sherlock leaned in.

And John up.

The rest is mundane, a description you’ve heard too many times before. Their lips meeting, a nervous kiss. A moment of pause, refrain, and then deeper. Always deeper. They stayed like that for some time, until they were near breathless in fact. And then pulled back.

Not enough to create distance, just enough to see. To see the gold.

Sherlock’s gold.

 


End file.
